The Two Gentlemen of Verona

THERE
lived in the city of Verona two young
gentlemen, whose names were Valentine and Proteus,
between whom a firm and uninterrupted friendship
had long subsisted. They pursued their studies
together, and their hours of leisure were always
passed in each other's company, except when
Proteus visited a lady he was in love with; and
these visits to his mistress, and this passion of
Proteus for the fair Julia, were the only topics
on which these two friends disagreed; for
Valentine, not being himself a lover, was
sometimes a little weary of hearing his friend for
ever talking of his Julia, and then he would laugh
at Proteus, and in pleasant terms ridicule the
passion of love, and declare that no such idle
fancies should ever enter his head, greatly
preferring (as he said) the free and happy life he
led, to the anxious hopes and fears of the lover
Proteus.

One morning Valentine came to Proteus to tell
him that they must for a time be separated, for
that he was going to Milan. Proteus, unwilling to
part with his friend, used many arguments to
prevail upon Valentine not to leave him: but
Valentine said: "Cease to persuade me, my loving
Proteus. I will not, like a sluggard, wear out my
youth in idleness at home. Home-keeping youths
have ever homely wits. If your affection were not
chained to the sweet glances of your honoured
Julia, I would entreat you to accompany me, to see
the wonders of the world abroad; but since you are
a lover, love on still, and may your love be
prosperous!"

They parted with mutual expressions of
unalterable friendship. "Sweet Valentine, adieu!"
said Proteus; "think on me, when you see some rare
object worthy of notice in your travels, and wish
me partaker of your happiness."

Valentine began his journey that same day
towards Milan; and when his friend had left him,
Proteus sat down to write a letter to Julia, which
he gave to her maid Lucetta to deliver to her
mistress.

Julia loved Proteus as well as he did her, but
she was a lady of a noble spirit, and she thought
it did not become her maiden dignity too easily to
be won; therefore she affected to be insensible of
his passion, and gave him much uneasiness in the
prosecution of his suit.

And when Lucetta offered the letter to Julia,
she would not receive it, and chid her maid for
taking letters from Proteus, and ordered her to
leave the room. But she so much wished to see
what was written in the letter, that she soon
called in her maid again; and when Lucetta
returned, she said: "What o'clock is it?" Lucetta,
who knew her mistress more desired to see the
letter than to know the time of day, without
answering her question, again offered the rejected
letter. Julia, angry that her maid should thus
take the liberty of seeming to know what she
really wanted, tore the letter in pieces, and
threw it on the floor, ordering her maid once more
out of the room. As Lucetta was retiring, she
stopped to pick up the fragments of the torn
letter; but Julia, who meant not so to part with
them, said, in pretended anger: "Go, get you gone,
and let the papers lie, you would be fingering
them to anger me."

Julia then began to piece together as well as
she could the torn fragments. She first made out
these words: "Love-wounded Proteus"; and lamenting
over these and such like loving words, which she
made out though they were all torn asunder, or,
she said wounded (the expression "Love-wounded
Proteus" giving her that idea), she talked to
these kind words, telling them she would lodge
them in her bosom as in a bed, till their wounds
were healed, and that she would kiss each several
piece, to make amends.

In this manner she went on talking with a
pretty ladylike childishness, till finding herself
unable to make out the whole, and vexed at her own
ingratitude in destroying such sweet and loving
words, as she called them, she wrote a much kinder
letter to Proteus than she had ever done before.

Proteus was greatly delighted at receiving
this favourable answer to his letter; and while he
was reading it, he exclaimed: "Sweet love, sweet
lines, sweet life!" In the midst of his raptures
he was interrupted by his father. "How now!" said
the old gentleman; "what letter are you reading
there?"

"There are no news, my lord," said Proteus,
greatly alarmed, "but that he writes how well
beloved he is of the duke of Milan, who daily
graces him with favours; and how he wishes me with
him, the partner of his fortune."

"And how stand you affected to his wish?"
asked the father.

"As one relying on your lordship's will, and
not depending on his friendly wish," said Proteus.

Now it had happened that Proteus' father had
just been talking with a friend on this very
subject: his friend had said, he wondered his
lordship suffered his son to spend his youth at
home, while most men were sending their sons to
seek preferment abroad; "some," said he, "to the
wars, to try their fortunes there, and some to
discover islands far away, and some to study in
foreign universities; and there is his companion
Valentine, he is gone to the duke of Milan's
court. Your son is fit for any of these things,
and it will be a great disadvantage to him in his
riper age not to have travelled in his youth."

Proteus' father thought the advice of his
friend was very good, and upon Proteus telling him
that Valentine "wished him with him, the partner
of his fortune," he at once determined to send his
son to Milan; and without giving Proteus any
reason for this sudden resolution, it being the
usual habit of this positive old gentleman to
command his son, not reason with him, he said: "My
will is the same as Valentine's wish"; and seeing
his son look astonished, he added: "Look not
amazed, that I so suddenly resolve you shall spend
some time in the duke of Milan's court; for what I
will I will, and there is an end. To-morrow be in
readiness to go. Make no excuses; for I am
peremptory."

Proteus knew it was of no use to make
objections to his father, who never suffered him
to dispute his will; and he blamed himself for
telling his father an untruth about Julia's
letter, which had brought upon him the sad
necessity of leaving her.

Now that Julia found she was going to lose
Proteus for so long a time, she no longer
pretended indifference; and they bade each other a
mournful farewell, with many vows of love and
constancy. Proteus and Julia exchanged rings,
which they both promised to keep for ever in
remembrance of each other; and thus, taking a
sorrowful leave, Proteus set out on his journey to
Milan, the abode of his friend Valentine.

Valentine was in reality what Proteus had
feigned to his father, in high favour with the
duke of Milan; and another event had happened to
him, of which Proteus did not even dream, for
Valentine had given up the freedom of which he
used so much to boast, and was become as
passionate a lover as Proteus.

She who had wrought this wondrous change in
Valentine was the lady Silvia, daughter of the
duke of Milan, and she also loved him; but they
concealed their love from the duke, because
although he showed much kindness for Valentine,
and invited him every day to his palace, yet he
designed to marry his daughter to a young courtier
whose name was Thurio. Silvia despised this
Thurio, for he had none of the fine sense and
excellent qualities of Valentine.

These two rivals, Thurio and Valentine, were
one day on a visit to Silvia, and Valentine was
entertaining Silvia with turning everything Thurio
said into ridicule, when the duke himself entered
the room, and told Valentine the welcome news of
his friend Proteus' arrival. Valentine said: "If
I had wished a thing, it would have been to have
seen him here!" And then he highly praised Proteus
to the duke, saying: "My lord, though I have been
a truant of my time, yet hath my friend made use
and fair advantage of his days, and is complete in
person and in mind, in all good grace to grace a
gentleman."

"Welcome him then according to his worth,"
said the duke. "Silvia, I speak to you, and you,
Sir Thurio; for Valentine, I need not bid him do
so." They were here interrupted by the entrance of
Proteus, and Valentine introduced him to Silvia,
saying: "Sweet lady, entertain him to be my
fellow-servant to your ladyship."

When Valentine and Proteus had ended their
visit, and were alone together, Valentine said:
"Now tell me how all does from whence you came?
How does your lady, and how thrives your love?"
Proteus replied: "My tales of love used to weary
you. I know you joy not in a love discourse."

"Ay, Proteus," returned Valentine, "but that
life is altered now. I have done penance for
condemning love. For in revenge of my contempt of
love, love has chased sleep from my enthralled
eyes. O gentle Proteus, Love is a mighty lord,
and hath so humbled me, that I confess there is no
woe like his correction, nor so such joy on earth
as in his service. I now like no discourse except
it be of love. Now I can break my fast, dine,
sup, and sleep, upon the very name of love."

This acknowledgment of the change which love
had made in the disposition of Valentine was a
great triumph to his friend Proteus. But "friend"
Proteus must be called no longer, for the same
all-powerful deity Love, of whom they were
speaking (yea, even while they were talking of the
change he had made in Valentine), was working in
the heart of Proteus; and he, who had till this
time been a pattern of true love and perfect
friendship, was now, in one short interview with
Silvia, become a false friend and a faithless
lover; for at the first sight of Silvia all his
love for Julia vanished away like a dream, nor did
his long friendship for Valentine deter him from
endeavouring to supplant him in her affections;
and although, as it will always be, when people of
dispositions naturally good become unjust, he had
many scruples before he determined to forsake
Julia, and become the rival of Valentine; yet he
at length overcame his sense of duty, and yielded
himself up, almost without remorse, to his new
unhappy passion.

Valentine imparted to him in confidence the
whole history of his love, and how carefully they
had concealed it from the duke her father, and
told him, that, despairing of ever being able to
obtain his consent, he had prevailed upon Silvia
to leave her father's palace that night, and go
with him to Mantua; then he showed Proteus a
ladder of ropes, by help of which he meant to
assist Silvia to get out of one of the windows of
the palace after it was dark.

Upon hearing this faithful recital of his
friend's dearest secrets, it is hardly possible to
be believed, but so it was, that Proteus resolved
to go to the duke, and disclose the whole to him.

This false friend began his tale with many
artful speeches to the duke, such as that by the
laws of friendship he ought to conceal what he was
going to reveal, but that the gracious favour the
duke had shown him, and the duty he owed his
grace, urged him to tell that which else no
worldly good should draw from him. He then told
all he had heard from Valentine, not omitting the
ladder of ropes, and the manner in which Valentine
meant to conceal them under a long cloak.

The duke thought Proteus quite a miracle of
integrity, in that he preferred telling his
friend's intention rather than he would conceal an
unjust action, highly commended him, and promised
him not to let Valentine know from whom he had
learnt this intelligence, but by some artifice to
make Valentine betray the secret himself. For
this purpose the duke awaited the coming of
Valentine in the evening, whom he soon saw
hurrying towards the palace, and he perceived
somewhat was wrapped within his cloak, which he
concluded was the rope-ladder.

The duke upon this stopped him, saying:
"Whither away so fast,
Valentine?""May it please
your grace," said Valentine, "there is a messenger
that stays to bear my letters to my friends, and I
am going to deliver them." Now this falsehood of
Valentine's had no better success in the event
than the untruth Proteus told his father.

"Be they of much import?" said the duke.

"No more, my lord," said Valentine, "than to
tell my father I am well and happy at your grace's
court."

"Nay then," said the duke, "no matter; stay
with me a while. I wish your counsel about some
affairs that concern me nearly." He then told
Valentine an artful story, as a prelude to draw
his secret from him, saying that Valentine knew he
wished to match his daughter with Thurio, but that
she was stubborn and disobedient to his commands,
"neither regarding," said he, "that she is my
child, nor fearing me as if I were her father.
And I may say to thee, this pride of hers has
drawn my love from her. I had thought my age
should have been cherished by her childlike duty.
I now am resolved to take a wife, and turn her out
to whosoever will take her in. Let her beauty be
her wedding dower, for me and my possessions she
esteems not."

Valentine, wondering where all this would end,
made answer: "And what would your grace have me do
in all this?"

"Why," said the duke, "the lady I would wish
to marry is nice and coy, and does not much esteem
my aged eloquence. Besides, the fashion of
courtship is much changed since I was young; now I
would willingly have you to be my tutor to
instruct me how I am to woo."

Valentine gave him a general idea of the modes
of courtship then practiced by young men, when
they wished to win a fair lady's love, such as
presents, frequent visits, and the like.

The duke replied to this, that the lady did
refuse a present which he sent her, and that she
was so strictly kept by her father, that no man
might have access to her by day.

"Why then," said Valentine, "you must visit
her by night."

"But at night," said the artful duke, who was
now coming to the drift of his discourse, "her
doors are fast locked."

Valentine then unfortunately proposed that the
duke should go into the lady's chamber at night by
means of a ladder of ropes, saying he would
procure him one tatting for that purpose; and in
conclusion advised him to conceal this ladder of
ropes under such a cloak as that which he now
wore. "Lend me your cloak," said the duke, who
had feigned this long story on purpose to have a
presence to get off the cloak; so upon saying
these words, he caught hold of Valentine's cloak,
and throwing it back, he discovered not only the
ladder of ropes, but also a letter of Silvia's,
which he instantly opened and read; and this
letter contained a full account of their intended
elopement. The duke, after upbraiding Valentine
for his ingratitude in thus returning the favour
he had shown him, by endeavouring to steal away
his daughter, banished him from the court and city
of Milan for ever; and Valentine was forced to
depart that night, without even seeing Silvia.

While Proteus at Milan was thus injuring
Valentine, Julia at Verona was regretting the
absence of Proteus; and her regard for him at last
so far overcame her sense of propriety, that she
resolved to leave Verona, and seek her lover at
Milan; and to secure herself from danger on the
road, she dressed her maiden Lucetta and herself
in men's clothes, and they set out in this
disguise, and arrived at Milan soon after
Valentine was banished from that city through the
treachery of Proteus.

Julia entered Milan about noon, and she took
up her abode at an inn; and her thoughts being all
on her dear Proteus, she entered into conversation
with the innkeeper, or host, as he was called,
thinking by that means to learn some news of
Proteus.

The host was greatly pleased that this
handsome young gentleman (as he took her to be),
who from his appearance he concluded was of high
rank, spoke so familiarly to him; and being a
good-natured man, he was sorry to see him look so
melancholy; and to amuse his young guest, he
offered to take him to hear some fine music, with
which, he said, a gentleman that evening was going
to serenade his mistress.

The reason Julia looked so very melancholy
was, that she did not well know what Proteus would
think of the imprudent step she had taken; for she
knew he had loved her for her noble maiden pride
and dignity of character, and she feared she
should lower herself in his esteem: and this it
was that made her wear a sad and thoughtful
countenance.

She gladly accepted the offer of the host to
go with him, and hear the music; for she secretly
hoped she might meet Proteus by the way.

But when she came to the palace whither the
host conducted her, a very different effect was
produced to what the kind host intended; for
there, to her heart's sorrow, she beheld her
lover, the inconstant Proteus, serenading the lady
Silvia with music, and addressing discourse of
love and admiration to her. And Julia overheard
Silvia from a window talk with Proteus, and
reproach him for forsaking his own true lady, and
for his ingratitude to his friend Valentine; and
then Silvia left the window, not choosing to
listen to his music and his fine speeches; for she
was a faithful lady to her banished Valentine, and
abhorred the ungenerous conduct of his false
friend Proteus.

Though Julia was in despair at what she had
just witnessed, yet did she still love the truant
Proteus; and hearing that he had lately parted
with a servant, she contrived with the assistance
of her host, the friendly innkeeper, to hire
herself to Proteus as a page; and Proteus knew not
she was Julia, and he sent her with letters and
presents to her rival Silvia, and he even sent by
her the very ring she gave him as a parting gift
at Verona.

When she went to that lady with the ring, she
was most glad to find that Silvia utterly rejected
the suit of Proteus; and Julia, or the page
Sebastian as she was called, entered into
conversation with Silvia about Proteus' first
love, the forsaken lady Julia. She putting in (as
one may say) a good word for herself, said she
knew Julia; as well she might, being herself the
Julia of whom she spoke; telling how fondly Julia
loved her master Proteus, and how his unkind
neglect would grieve her: and then she with a
pretty equivocation went on: "Julia is about my
height, and of my complexion, the colour of her
eyes and hair the same as mine": and indeed Julia
looked a most beautiful youth in her boy's attire.
Silvia was moved to pity this lovely lady, who was
so sadly forsaken by the man she loved; and when
Julia offered the ring which Proteus had sent,
refused it, saying: "The more shame for him that
he sends me that ring; I will not take it; for I
have often heard him say his Julia gave it to him.
I love thee, gentle youth, for pitying her, poor
lady! Here is a purse; I give it you for Julia's
sake." These comfortable words coming from her
kind rival's tongue cheered the drooping heart of
the disguised lady.

But to return to the banished Valentine; who
scarce knew which way to bend his course, being
unwilling to return home to his father a disgraced
and banished man: as he was wandering over a
lonely forest, not far distant from Milan, where
he had left his heart's dear treasure, the lady
Silvia, he was set upon by robbers, who demanded
his money.

Valentine told them that he was a man crossed
by adversity, that he was going into banishment,
and that he had no money, the clothes he had on
being all his riches.

The robbers, hearing that he was a distressed
man, and being struck with his noble air and manly
behaviour, told him if he would live with them,
and be their chief, or captain, they would put
themselves under his command; but that if he
refused to accept their offer, they would kill
him.

Valentine, who cared little what became of
himself, said he would consent to live with them
and be their captain, provided they did no outrage
on women or poor passengers.

Thus the noble Valentine became, like Robin
Hood, of whom we read in ballads, a captain of
robbers and outlawed banditti; and in this
situation he was found by Silvia, and in this
manner it came to pass.

Silvia, to avoid a marriage with Thurio, whom
her father insisted upon her no longer refusing,
came at last to the resolution of following
Valentine to Mantua, at which place she had heard
her lover had taken refuge; but in this account
she was misinformed, for he still lived in the
forest among the robbers, bearing the name of
their captain, but taking no part in their
depredations, and using the authority which they
had imposed upon him in no other way than to
compel them to show compassion to the travellers
they robbed.

Silvia contrived to effect her escape from her
father's palace in company with a worthy old
gentleman, whose name was Eglamour, whom she took
along with her for protection on the road. She
had to pass through the forest where Valentine and
the banditti dwelt; and one of these robbers
seized on Silvia, and would also have taken
Eglamour, but he escaped.

The robber who had taken Silvia, seeing the
terror ;he was in, bid her not be alarmed, for
that he was only going to carry her to a cave
where his captain lived, and that she need not be
afraid, for their captain had an honourable mind,
and always showed humanity to women. Silvia found
little comfort in hearing she was going to be
carried as a prisoner before the captain of a
lawless banditti. "O Valentine," she cried, "this
I endure for thee!"

But as the robber was conveying her to the
cave of his captain, he was stopped by Proteus,
who, still attended by Julia in the disguise of a
page, having heard of the flight of Silvia, had
traced her steps to this forest. Proteus now
rescued her from the hands of the robber; but
scarce had she time to thank him for the service
he had done her, before he began to distress her
afresh with his love suit; and while he was rudely
pressing her to consent to marry him, and his page
(the forlorn Julia) was standing beside him in
great anxiety of mind, fearing lest the great
service which Proteus had just done to Silvia
should win her to show him some favour, they were
all strangely surprised with the sudden appearance
of Valentine, who, having heard his robbers had
taken a lady prisoner, came to console and relieve
her.

Proteus was courting Silvia, and he was so
much ashamed of being caught by his friend, that
he was all at once seized with penitence and
remorse; and he expressed such a lively sorrow for
the injuries he had done to Valentine, that
Valentine, whose nature was noble and generous,
even to a romantic degree, not only forgave and
restored him to his former place in his
friendship, but in a sudden flight of heroism he
said: "I freely do forgive you; and all the
interest I have in Silvia, I give it up to you."
Julia, who was standing beside her master as a
page, hearing this strange offer, and fearing
Proteus would not be able with this new-found
virtue to refuse Silvia, fainted, and they were
all employed in recovering her: else would Silvia
have been offended at being thus made over to
Proteus, though she could scarcely think that
Valentine would long persevere in this
overstrained and too generous act of friendship.
When Julia recovered from the fainting kit, she
said: "I had forgot, my master ordered me to
deliver this ring to Silvia." Proteus, looking
upon the ring, saw that it was the one he gave to
Julia, in return for that which he received from
her, and which he had sent by the supposed page to
Silvia. "How is this?" said he, "this is Julia's
ring: how came you by it, boy?" Julia answered:
"Julia herself did give it me, and Julia herself
hath brought it hither."

Proteus, now looking earnestly upon her,
plainly perceived that the page Sebastian was no
other than the lady Julia herself; and the proof
she had given of her constancy and true love so
wrought in him, that his love for her returned
into his heart, and he took again his own dear
lady, and joyfully resigned all pretensions to the
lady Silvia to Valentine, who had so well deserved
her.

Proteus and Valentine were expressing their
happiness in their reconciliation, and in the love
of their faithful ladies when they were surprised
with the sight of the duke of Milan and Thurio,
who came there in pursuit of Silvia.

Thurio first approached, and attempted to
seize Silvia, saying: "Silvia is mine." Upon this
Valentine said to him in a very spirited manner:
"Thurio, keep back: if once again you say that
Silvia is yours, you shall embrace your death.
Here she stands, take but possession of her with a
torch! I dare you but to breathe upon my love."
Hearing this threat, Thurio, who was a great
coward, drew back, and said he cared not for her,
and that none but a fool would fight for a girl
who loved him not.

The duke, who was a very brave man himself,
said now in great anger: "The more base and
degenerate in you to take such means for her as
you have done, and leave her on such slight
conditions." Then turning to Valentine, he said:
"I do applaud your spirit Valentine, and think you
worthy of an empress's love. You shall have
Silvia, for you have well deserved her." Valentine
then with great humility kissed the duke's hand,
and accepted the noble present which he had made
him of his daughter with becoming thankfulness:
taking occasion of this joyful minute to entreat
the good-humoured duke to pardon the thieves with
whom he had associated in the forest, assuring
him, that when reformed and restored to society,
there would be found among them many good, and ht
for great employment; for the most of them had
been banished, like Valentine, for state offences,
rather than for any black crimes they had been
guilty of. To this the ready duke consented: and
now nothing remained but that Proteus, the false
friend, was ordained, by way of penance for his
love-prompted faults, to be present at the recital
of the whole story of his loves and falsehoods
before the duke; and the shame of the recital to
his awakened conscience was judged sufficient
punishment: which being done, the lovers, all
four, returned back to Milan, and their nuptials
were solemnized in the presence of the duke, with
high triumphs and feasting.